Living in Sin
by Haurvatat
Summary: Conrad's been an assassin since World War II. Yuuri's headed for college on a sports scholarship, but somehow has gotten on the bad side of the wrong people. So what happens when Yuuri is Conrad's next scheduled target? Conyuu, AU
1. Prologue: Heut' ist nicht mein tag

I wanted to try out a different breed of KKM fic – the ever-elusive AU fic. Too many ConYuu fics are within the rather open parameters of the original series. But this time,

I SAY NAY!

I dunno what chapter length people should really be expecting, or the speed of publication. If the chapters are like, four or five pages in length, I could probably put one out every day or every other day for a while. Much longer than that, and, being realistic, I could probably handle one a week. Once again, I dunno. I guess, holla your input with that magical button down at the bottom of the page that allows you to transmit your thoughts and feelings thousands of miles away instantaneously to the inbox of a person eagerly hanging on your every word like a creepy stalker.

DISCLAIMER: First they were thoughts. Then they were scribbled notes. Then they were rough drafts. Then they were novels. Then they were sketches. Then they were manga. Then they were episodes. And you know what? Never, and I mean never, were they mine.

* * *

_"Momma?"_

_"Yes, Wolfram, dear?"_

_"How come Conrad's last name is Weller?"_

_"For the same reason Gwendal's last name is von Voltaire, and why yours in von Bielfeld: he has a different father than you."_

_"But 'Weller' isn't German, is it, Momma?"_

_"Well…no. My dear, we don't talk about that. Let's talk about something else."_

_"He's not German, is he?!"_

_"Wolfram, baby, please, keep your voice down! It's not something you want people to hear!"_

_"Conrad's not German, Conrad's not German!"_

_"QUIET!"_

_"…I… I'm sorry, Mu-Momma."_

_"No, shh, baby, I'm the one who should be sorry. Don't cry; I shouldn't have yelled at you. Just know that… that's not something you should ever tell anyone, love. Even if they ask you. It's a secret. You can keep a secret, right, love?"_

_"Uh-huh. I won't tell."_

_"…Thank you, Wolfram. Conrad thanks you, too."_

* * *

_"Hello, madam Cheri."_

_"Why hello, there. What brings strapping young soldiers like yourselves to my front door?"_

_"Er… well, you see, ma'am, we have a warrant for your son's arrest."_

_"…What?! Which son? On what charges?! I demand to know! Tell me NOW!"_

_"Ma'am, this warrant has the Fuhrer's seal on it. We don't need to tell you anything. Now, we need to know where Conrad Weller is. Now."_

_"Hell if I let you intimidate me! My son has been a model citizen! How dare you insinuate that he has been anything less! YOU WILL NOT TAKE HIM!"_

_"Sorry, ma'am, but it's not up to you."_

_"It's not up to us either, for that matter."_

* * *

_"Mother."_

_"Conrad?"_

_"CONRAD!"_

_"Baby! Oh, thank God you're alright! Did they hurt you? Did they torture you? Oh God, my baby's been tortured!"_

_"They didn't touch me, Mother."_

_"I'll believe it when I see it, love. Oh, hug me. I just can't believe that you're safe and sound, after all that."_

_"What did they take you for, then, Conrad?"_

_"Yes, I'm rather interested to know myself."_

_"Wolfram! Gwendal! Don't ask your brother things like that so soon! Just be grateful that he's here."_

_"It's alright, Mother. I take no offense. They wanted to talk about my father."_

_"…They knew?"_

_"Yes. It seems they found out that Father was American."_

_"And now that the Americans are in the war…"_

_"They suspected me of espionage, of course."_

_"And they still didn't torture you?!"_

_"No, but there was a reason for that. They offered me a chance to prove myself. Show some good, old-fashioned nationalism, since I've been living here in Germany my entire life. I have to join the military. There's even a special unit for those of mixed blood, like me, so I doubt there will even be too much hazing."_

_"But…Conrad, I don't want to see you go off to war…I don't want to lose you, love. You're my child. I can't just…I can't-"_

_"There's no other way, Mother. It's either this, or…well, they didn't exactly say, but even if they had, I doubt I'd be of a mind to repeat it."_

_"If there's no way out of it, I'll be waiting for your return."_

_"Me, too!"_

_"And me, I suppose."_

_"And you'd better come back, my dearest son. I shall beat you blind if you don't."_

_"Understood, Mother. I'll come home when all this nonsense has blown over."_

* * *

_"Mother!"_

_"COOOOONRAAAAAD! Oh! You said you'd come back, and you did! Ooooh! That's my boy! That's my little war hero! And don't you think I haven't heard about your bravery and valour, my little kinder!"_

_"Hey, what about MY bravery and valour? Don't I get any credit?"_

_"Honey, who is this?"_

_"His name is Yozak. We were stationed on the front lines together. We came out on the other side of Ruthenberg together, too."_

_"Oh! Goodness gracious! Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Yozak! I welcome any friend of Conrad's with open arms. Especially one with such pretty arms himself…"_

_"Mother!"_

_"Whoops; sorry, Wolfram."_

_"It's good to be home."_

_"Conrad."_

_"Yes, Gwendal?"_

_"Things…are a bit different than you left them."_

_"Eh? How so? What happened?"_

_"Well…"_

_"You may want to be sitting down for this."_

_"That big?"_

_"That big. Julia…well, you know how much she was against the war. Rather vocal about it, too."_

_"And we were always warning her that the Fuhrer likes cripples about as much as he likes the Jews. Your point? Wait… something hasn't happened to her, has it?"_

_"Conrad…"_

_"What's happened?! Is she alright?"_

_"No. Conrad… she was rounded up and taken away. We were notified last month that she'd died in Auschwitz."_

_"…No. Julia…no. That's not possible…How could…What…I don't understand."_

_"No one ever does, Conrad, my love. No one ever does."_

_"This Julia… was she somebody important to you?"_

_"Sorry Yozak; I was going to introduce you to her while you were in town. I guess…that's not going to be possible, is it?"_

_"It's okay. I'm very sorry for your loss."_

_"Mm. But, in answer to your question… yes. She was a very important person, but not just to me. She was kind of a saint, in many ways. The world is darker for her passing."_

_"Way to go poet on me."_

_"Was there a funeral?"_

_"No. We weren't permitted to hold one. There wasn't even a body to bury, according to her older brother."_

_"I'm sorry, everyone. I've just gotten home, but I think I need to be alone for a while. I'm sorry."_

_"It's alright. We understand. We'll leave you alone."_

_"If you need someone to talk to, Conrad, consider me willing."_

_"Thanks, but… I just need to be alone."_

* * *

_"Shit, man, you're leaving?"_

_"Yeah. I won't stay in this fucking country a second longer than I fucking have to."_

_"Whoa. Bitter. This has something to do with your Julia, doesn't it?"_

_"Of course not, Yozak. What on EARTH made you think that?"_

_"Tone down the sarcasm, lambchop. I'm your friend, here."_

_"You're not acting like it."_

_"Where are you going to go if you're not going to stay here?"_

_"I don't know, anywhere. Hell is better than this place. Maybe I can find myself a one-way ticket there."_

_"Not a path I'd recommend, dear Commander."_

_"Then what the fuck do you suggest?"_

_"Japan."_

_"Japan?"_

_"Yeah. Good country. Hot summers. Nice folk when they're not going all fascist on you. Not that they can anymore, with the Americans occupying 'em. Trust me, it's a good place to lay back and relax without anyone getting on your back that you're half German. No one's gonna fault you for that in an entire country that's going super-paranoid after getting bombed. Not that they weren't paranoid as fuck before."_

_"…Japan, huh?"_

_"No reason why we shouldn't, Commander."_

_"We?"_

_"I said I was your friend, didn't I? That means that when I follow you in, I intend to follow you out just the same. I'm coming with you. Not like I have too much attachment to Europe, anyway."_

_"…Well, alright. Just don't piss me off."_

_"Impossible demands, as usual."_

_"Shut up."_

_"Hai."_

* * *

(A/N): Hellz yes! Wrote the prologue and made a double-batch of brownies at the same time. And who says writers can't multitask? Suck it.

But what the hey. I just wrote an entire prologue with nothing but dialogue. Is it clear who's speaking most of the time? 'Cause I tried to make it as easy to understand as possible. I wanted to make it as much flashback-y as possible. In most of my memories, at least, I remember mostly words. What someone said, how someone said a thing. You don't remember too much of anything else (maybe the time of day) and there's very little to really prompt a narrative, so writing a _narrative_ for a _flashback_ seemed sacrilege to me. It just wasn't accurate. Plus, dialogue is so much easier to crank out at ridiculously fast paces. Had I included narrative, this would be a much longer prologue, but it also wouldn't have been half so interesting. Much like my incessant rambling right now.

I'm going to shut up now.

Also, Yozak's a wonderful character to write for. He's so much fun!

Love ya. Review fast or die slow.


	2. Chapter 1: Sie denken dass ich verrückt

Back, ladies and… ladies. Didn't take that long, did it? Told you I could handle a faster pace if I went for somewhat short-ish chapters. Let's see how long THAT'S gonna last.

DISCLAIMER: Kyou Kara MINE is not the name of the show. Stfu.

* * *

4:49. Hell if he was gonna get up that early. Back to sleep. School didn't start until 8:45. Factor in the time it took Yuuri to dress, eat, and pedal his way to the building, and he technically wouldn't have to get up until… crap. Morning was _not_ the time to be doing math. Uugh… probably about 7:30 or so. Yeah. 7:30 was a good time to get up. Or at least, that was the plan. Yuuri should've known better than to think that he could just magically wake up at any time he chose. While Shori could do it (a clearly genetic thing inherited from their Great-Aunt on their mother's side), Yuuri had never possessed such a useful talent. Instead of waking up at 7:30, as planned, Yuuri only regained consciousness at about 8:15. Bad luck. Or just bad planning. As Yuuri's addled mind fully comprehended what the glowing numbers meant, a great scream resounded throughout the neighborhood.

While Yuuri's ability to wake up on time was less than stellar, his ability to throw on clothes and fly downstairs at the speed of light was not. He'd been intending to skip breakfast (his school advocated early lunches, after all), but his mother was hardly the type to let such a thing happen as long as _she_ was queen of the house. Screw punctuality, her boys needed to put some weight on them.

"Honestly, Yuu-chan, if you don't eat, how will you have the strength to make it through the day? You need a sharp, well-fed mind to do well!"

"And Yuu-chan needs all the help he can get, what with that graduation practice exam coming up," Shori muttered into his coffee.

"Oh, shut up, Shori."

"Call me onii-chan."

"Fat fuckin' chance."

"Yuu-chan! Such language!" His mother angrily shoved a piece of toast into her son's mouth to silence him. "Judgement! Repent your sins in silence!"

Despite her fiery expression (and the toast jammed down his throat), Yuuri laughed a little and threw his bento into his schoolbag, packing up to go. He attempted to chew as he threw open the front door, unchained his bike, and began pedaling frantically down the street. His mother and brother looked on as he went.

"Oooooh," Miko said. "My baby boy is already seventeen. Practically an adult already! I don't want to lose another son!"

"Mother, stop talking like I died."

"Well, I suppose that's true. But you're different from Yuu-chan! You stayed home with Mama even though you got all big and grown-up and became the heir to the biggest company in the Mazoku world… that was you! What if Yuu-chan doesn't want to stay at home with Mama or Papa or his onii-chan? He didn't want breakfast this morning; he's already tired of Mama's cooking, isn't he? Oh, no! My cooking is the only thing tying my men down! Nooooo! My baaaabyyyyy…" She whined and moaned, pawing at the family photos adorning the living room walls in terror.

"Mother… I think you're making too big a deal out of this. Besides, Yuu-chan wouldn't just up and leave. How could I protect him if he's hundreds of miles away? He'll be staying right here if I have anything to say about it."

"That's my firstborn! Every inch a CEO!"

"Oh bugger. I'm probably going to be late for training today unless I leave soon. And then I've got three different meetings with various diplomats, and then there's lunch with Jose Rodriguez… I've gotta go, Mother, see you when I get home."

"Okay, baby! Don't be late!"

"Goodbye!"

"Goodbye! Mama's making curry tonight, so come home on time!" Miko leaned against the doorframe. Was it too much to ask for, that the men in her life stay there?

* * *

Conrad bounced a leg under the table. He was in a Popeye's chicken, of all places. Okinawa was liberally sprinkled with American fast-food places, especially chicken establishments. They were low-class and common enough to make sure that anyone seen there would be boring, mundane, and above all, unmemorable. Conrad needed that kind of obscurity in people's minds for his field of work. It helped that he had very ambiguous looks that couldn't have identified him as anything other than not-Asian. He honestly wished he could say the same for the man he was supposed to be meeting.

Yozak was late, as per usual. To him, punctuality was some sort of fashion faux pas. So was dressing in accordance with his gender, but Conrad sincerely, _sincerely_ hoped that his friend had had the common sense to dress in a slightly less conspicuous manner than usual.

The bell on the front door rang softly, but Conrad kept his eyes trained on a speck of ketchup on the table left over by its previous occupants_. Don't be Yozak in a dress, don't be Yozak in a dress, DON'T be Yozak in a dress, please GOD_, he prayed.

"Hiya, Commander. Don't even look up for an old comrade, why dontcha?"

Conrad's face rose, still unsmiling, although his eyes crinkled slightly at the edges. "Yozak. Good to see you. You're unusually toned down in your choice of clothing today." It was true. The man wore some completely forgettable jeans and a Death Cab for Cutie tee-shirt. He'd even dyed his hair brown instead of its typical eye-smarting shade of reddish-orange.

"Please, Commander. Credit me with some sense. I'm not foolish enough to show up in a kimono in the middle of a Popeye's Chicken 'n' Biscuits for chrissakes, although I did consider it for all of 3 seconds, just for the shock value."

"I thought shock value was what we were trying to _avoid_."

"Which is why I didn't do it, duh. You're so slow, Commander."

"Sorry. But, I swear to God… you haven't aged a day since the '60s."

Yozak sighed. "You haven't, either. Haven't found a cure yet?"

Conrad let a smile slip. "Not quite what I'd call it, but no, I haven't found it."

Over sixty years ago – rapidly approaching seventy – World War II had ended, and the two friends had stationed themselves in Japan, effectively deserting the German army. It hadn't taken them long to realize that all of a sudden, they weren't aging at a normal pace. Or even too much at all. Conrad had been 16 in '44. Yozak had been 17. Now, in 2010, Conrad was 82 years old, but looked not a day over 29. For every five human years, he had aged about one, if you had the patience to do the math. Each one of them had come up with their respective theories as to how such a thing could happen, or was even possible, but Yozak had the best one.

Yozak theorized that, since each knew they were half Mazoku, their respective non-human blood had prompted a change in their aging process. Folklore among the Mazoku told that their people had originally come from a land called Makoku in another dimension, and that while they lived there, their lifespans had been much longer than that of humans, typically aging one human year for each five that they had lived. When that world had been destroyed by the mythical demon Soushu, the Mazoku and humans alike had historically fled Makoku for the peaceful Earth. As time wore on, Mazoku lost their magic and long life spans, becoming somewhat indistinguishable from normal humans, helping along assimilation. The longevity their people had once enjoyed, though, was almost extinct. Oprah Winfrey had been the last recorded Mazoku with such an ability, but she was nearing her 673rd birthday and getting on in years. Still looking good, though. Anyway, Yozak personally believed that the heightened instinct to live during their time on the front lines of the Russian preemptive strike force had reawakened their long-lost ability, along with some nonsense about adrenaline and cortisone and hormonal imbalances. The symptoms fit the bill, and there was what seemed to be cause. Both men had figured that it was the closest they were getting to an accurate diagnosis and decided to go with the flow until they could find a cure, as it were. Neither wanted to live for 700 years, or even as long as they had lived already.

"Sooo…" Yozak said. "What have you been doing with yourself?"

"This and that," Conrad replied ambiguously.

"Meaning, you've been tapping in the second sense for a wallet."

"What?"

"Sorry. Colloquialisms stick. Did you tap folk, though?"

"Tap? I swear to God, speak clearly for once in your life."

Yozak brought his hands up in front of his chest. "My heartfelt apologies, Commander. No need to castrate me with your eyes. Whoo, that's not a sentence I'm used to saying."

"Yozak."

"Got it. Tap. Hit. Whack. Off. Bump. Erase. Eradicate. _Assassinate_. Take your pick. I'd wanted to come at it from the side so I wouldn't have to say it out loud, but we've seen how well _that_ one worked out."

"Sorry to have ruined your plans."

"You should be. So… are you?"

"Mm."

"Shit, man… pays well, yes, but hardly ethical."

"Since when are we ethical? We're German."

Yozak cackled. "That's sick, man." Even Conrad smiled a little at his own joke. "But seriously, ever thought of getting out of the business?"

He shrugged. "Not much else I've done. Can't put 'tapping' on a job resume. Besides, people would notice my… condition. People tend to do that when your birthdate is listed as being in the 1920s. By the way, what is it you're doing nowadays? Is it something I can get in on, worst case scenario?"

"Kinda, kinda not," Yozak said. "The CIA loves me now that the Cold War is over." Oh, that was right. Yozak was a mix of German and Russian. "I bounce from agency to agency. I've got about 20 different aliases."

"And half of those are women."

"Not quite, but close. Nine of 'em are chicks, two of 'em are openly trannies."

Conrad winced ever-so-slightly, putting a hand over his eyes. Some people never really changed.

"Don't cry out loud. Just keep it inside." Conrad couldn't hold back his laughter this time.

"So, the CIA won't take me?" he asked.

Yozak scrunched up his face in thought. "I'll put in a good word for you, but no promises. Maybe they'll look harder in a year or two, but in the meantime, you'd have to go on the straight and narrow – the CIA hardly makes an effort to employ world-renown assassins, Mister Lion of Ruthenberg."

"You knew," he said, eyes accusing. "You looked me up."

"Not as much as you might think, " Yozak said dryly. "I just checked Interpol's higher-ups now and then to see if you'd been caught yet. Had to know if I should be planning a prison break, didn't I?"

"I'm too careful for that," he growled.

"I just wanted to confirm that! Hell, did you ever think that maybe I was fucking worried about your sarcastic ass? Maybe, just maybe, I wanted to make sure you hadn't…"

"Make sure I hadn't what?"

Yozak breathed deeply. "Suicided," he said quietly.

Conrad's leg stopped bouncing. "Not likely. I'm not the type."

"You weren't the type sixty years ago," Yozak corrected. "I didn't know if maybe you'd… I dunno, changed your mind or something. Over half a century changes a guy. And your profession can't be good for your mental health, either."

"Would you quit harping on my job?!"

"Would you _quit_ your job?!"

Conrad's eyes narrowed for a while, but at length, relaxed. He sat back in his cheap fast-food-restaurant-grade chair, sighing. "You know I'm okay with the change. I don't mind leaving this nonsense in the dust."

"But you'll procrastinate."

Conrad's mouth jerked up in a grin. "Yeah. Tell you what. I'll finish the job I'm on now, and then one more. Just one. I've been saving up my extra cash, but I don't have quite enough to float me for a year. This job and the next'll do it, so you can toss in that word to your CIA buddies. I'll cross my fingers, hope for the best, and park my ass somewhere in Hokkaido. They don't ask questions there and I can get a half-decent cover job. There, I have a plan. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Yozak said, sitting back in his seat as well. "Turning cartwheels."

"So that's that?"

"That's that."

"No other grievances about my lifestyle? My clothes? My friends? My hair? What?"

Yozak rubbed his chin. "Weeeeell, I did notice that your shoes are brown while your pants are black…" Conrad jokingly smacked his friend. "Quit it! I was just kidding! Christ… but yeah. I just wanna talk. Gossip. Dunno. Sixty years gets chalked up with lots of nonsense, I'm sure. Come on! Load me with stupid anecdotes, my friend!"

Conrad smiled easily. Smiling was so much simpler a task when his quirky friend was around. He'd forgotten. "Can do."

"Awesome. Just let me grab some chicken; I haven't eaten since dinner last night."

* * *

(A/N): Roughly the same length as the prologue. Not intentional – it just panned out that way. You say what you have to say, and when you're done, you're done. Hmm. Six to seven pages seems like a good length to keep all of these chapters. I'll stick with that for now. Or, actually, I'm just gonna BS my way through all of this.

Yes, I made Oprah a Mazoku. Admit it, that just blindsided you with awesome.

Review fast or die slow, my sisters (and occasional closeted brothers)!


	3. Chapter 2: Ich brauche nicht dies jetzt

I'm back, once more, with an aching hand and a new chapter of a slightly lengthier constitution than the last two. ^^

I just wanna get it out there: God bless Haiti and those who have passed away in the events of this past week. Donate anything you can. I'm not Christian (I'm agnostic – NOT ATHEIST), but I still don't exactly believe that any God could be so cruel as to ruin a country of His (or Her) most fervent supporters. Haiti is not beyond hope, but only so long as all of God's OTHER children get off their asses and decide that 'help thy neighbor' also applies to them what are scraping by in third world countries ravaged by natural disaster. Sound fair? Does to me.

DISCLAIMER: If I owned KKM, the profit I'd be making from it would be fed straight into Haiti relief funds. Can you say the same?

* * *

Stoffel von Spitzberg was one of those men incapable of sitting still. He had been a powerful envoy of Germany to the Maou for years and years, a faithful servant of that higher power that served as King to all Mazoku on Earth, and he was absurdly proud of that position. Because of that amiable relationship between Bob and him, Stoffel had been privy to special insider secrets (or so he liked to think) ahead of time. Today was going to be the most important meeting Stoffel had ever attended, so he had his faithful best friend and advisor, Raven, right there with him. He could barely sit still in his seat, but Raven simple sat there the patience of Mt. Fuji, barely even blinking or breathing… waiting patiently in a way that made Stoffel unreasonably jealous.

"How can you just _sit_ there?" Stoffel finally spat out.

Raven blinked. "Fidgeting will not bring the future here any faster than sitting still will," he said, reminded Stoffel irresistible of a fortune cookie message. He was about to tell his companion as much when the double doors opened wide. A black man with wide black eyes and an explosion of dark dreadlocks at the top of his head stood there, holding the door open with a foot as he adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses with a free hand.

"Stoffel-san and Raven-san, I presume?" he asked, looking at each man in turn. At their respective nods, he grinned, showing wide, perfect teeth. "My name is Jose Rodriguez. Shori-sama's open now. You're cool to come in. Do you need me to help you get through the halls here? It's really easy to get lost; I've done it about eight times so far since I started working here."

"Thank you," Stoffel said. "That would be very kind of you." He tried to keep the excitement from his voice, but failed miserably. All three man entered the snaking hallways behind the double doors.

"Sooo… is Shori-sama as magnificent as they say?" Stoffel asked.

"Hmm… I wouldn't say 'magnificent'. More like, 'hard-ass'. Or 'born to rule, but with his fair share of faults'," Jose said.

"What faults could the next Maou of Earth Mazoku possibly have?"

Jose laughed. "Well, for one, he's got a serious brother-complex."

"'Brother-complex'?"

"Yeah. He's absolutely nuts about his little brother, Yuuri. Absolutely crazy. The kid's in high school, so you'd think he'd be able to take care of himself, but Shori-sama's got this need or whatever to 'protect his baby brother'. I swear, he can be friggin' perfect, all cool, calm, and collected, but once you mention Yuuri, that person just ups and dies. That big a transformation."

"It sounds like a wonderful trait for His Highness to have. Treasuring one's family is surely the first and foremost quality any man should possess, right, Raven?" Raven nodded stiffly.

Jose made a face that could've meant any number of vaguely unpleasant things. "Er… when it comes to Shori-sama… just be natural. Don't act differently around him just because of who he is. He'll appreciate it," he said.

"I'll keep that in mind," Stoffel said.

They had reached a formidable set of double maple doors, presumably leading to a corner office. "Somehow I doubt you will," Jose muttered under his breath, pushing the right door open wide.

Thankfully, Stoffel hadn't heard. "Your Highness!" he cried, rushing into the room, arms outstretched.

"I rest my case," Jose whispered, closing the door and leaving Shori in the room with the other two men.

Shori made the same face Jose had so recently made in the hall. "Please, it's just Shori. No need for titles, Stoffel-san."

"Oh! Most certainly, Shori-sama! I'd be delighted! Oh, it's just such an honor to meet you, I'm flustered, so flustered…"

Shori just barely managed to resist the instinct to roll his eyes. God, he hated people like this. But, they existed. There was very little he could do about that. Best to grit his teeth and deal. "Pleasure to meet you as well."

"So gracious of you, truly, truly. I… assume… Bob-sama has told you of my concerns? For the construction of the canal in Hokkaido?"

"Ah, yes. The… canal. I had my fair share of concerns about it, as well."

"Exactly!" Stoffel gasped, eyes alight and animated as he sat down in one of the plush armchairs in front of Shori's desk. "I am convinced, _convinced_, that the construction is nothing more than a scam, a plot, a scheme! Let us call things by their proper names, shall we? The madness must be stopped before these scoundrels make a profit from so useless a venture!"

"There was never any doubt in my mind that this was a scam," Shori said. "What drew my attention, however, was from whence it originated."

Stoffel's mouth tightened by a hairline. "Eh? 'From whence it originated'?"

"Yes. The construction company which would profit stood out in the paper trail, but what of the person that proposed it in the first place? The papers I've gotten ahold of are all indicative of a foreign asset to the construction company, pushing along the project in local government board meetings and conferring frequently with company heads. The guy was pretty good at destroying his paper trail, but we found him by matching up his credit card charges and security footage with the various meeting locales."

"Y-you found him? That's – why, that's wonderful…" Stoffel said, sweating. "Who was he?"

"A man named Nietzche Kostoyevsky. Born in the USSR, current-day Siberia. Guy's a con artist; nothing unexpected about that. What _did_ draw my concern was this: Kostoyevsky was on someone's payroll. Someone interesting."

Stoffel was very pale now. "L-listen, I can explain-"

"No, I don't think you can just now," Shori said quietly. "You paid a man to start a scheme in a rural district of Japan so that you could catch it and look the hero. You're looking for favor from me. I can't really express my utter disdain for servile people like you who seek out political advantage through lies, trickery, scams, and deceit, thinking that just maybe I'll be stupid enough not to catch your careless mistakes. You're not concerned for the people; you're concerned for your own political standing, and that makes me feel ill just looking at you. You most likely would have earned my respect had you come at it the right and proper way, but no. Through this mistake, this stupid mistake, you've muffed any chance you would have had. Good day."

"But, Shori-sa-!"

"Good day," Shori said, his eyes razor-sharp behind the glasses in a way that left no room for argument. "Jose will show you the way out."

Stoffel spluttered. "You're not Maou yet! Don't think you can talk to me that way!"

"When I _am_ Maou, though, you will be relieved of your position in short order due to incompetence and lack of devotion to those you represent," Shori said. "That is, unless you prove yourself capable of change. Frankly, I doubt it. Bob warned me about you. I honestly don't know why he hasn't asked for your resignation yet. I will not make the same mistake. Rodriguez!"

"Yes, Shori-sama?" Jose asked, his head craning around the door.

"Show these men out."

"With pleasure, sir!" Jose tried to usher the stuttering, red-in-the-face diplomat out of the room, but it proved harder than anticipated.

"You have NOT heard the last of Stoffel von Spitzberg!" he screamed. "You can't fire me! You'll never be Maou, NEVER! Fuck you, Shibuya Shori, you pompous little -!"

Raven placed a hand on his master's shoulder and shook his head slightly. Stoffel jumped; he'd forgotten that the dark-haired man was there. Jose was finally able to show them out, making a great deal of noise as he slammed the front doors behind them.

"This is _not_ over," Stoffel muttered bitterly. "He thinks he can take my livelihood? Fat fucking chance. Pfft. All Japanese are stuck-up little pricks; have been since way before _my_ time. He thinks he can do away with my life? – well, I'll do away with his. Didn't that Rodriguez asshole say that there was a precious little brother squirreled away somewhere? Well, let's see if I can't use that to unhinge Shori-_sama_. Let's see what he does when his beloved little brother turns up _dead_."

* * *

Yuuri worried his pencil over with his teeth, trying to think of something to write. He liked his Japanese class just fine when they weren't asking for essays. The prompts never made any sense to him, anyway. It had been 40 minutes out of the 45 given, and he only had the opening paragraph done. But there was Murata, next to him, writing furiously, as though he could never put the characters on paper fast enough. He seemed to have _plenty_ to say. Why couldn't Yuuri come up with anything concrete when Murata had skyscrapers of freaking concrete ideas? It wasn't fair. What he wouldn't give to be able to ask Murata for a bit of his talent. If only such a thing were possible.

The timer in the front of the class rang noisily.

"Pencils down, pencils down," the teacher called out. Yuuri breathed deeply, letting the pencil fall from his mouth. He marked his own paper with a failing grade to save his teacher the time and passed it up.

"Didn't finish, Shibuya?" Murata asked.

"Shut up, you smug little… just, screw you."

Murata gave a wolfish grin. "Never on the first date, pookie."

Yuuri glared in response. "Your mom needs to give you decaf in the mornings."

"Oh! " Murata thunked a fist into his palm. "That's right! I've been trying to ask you for, like, a week, but you just reminded me!"

"Christ, what is it?"

"I've got this nutjob of a foreign exchange college student friend who I'd love for you to meet. I've been meaning to introduce you guys over coffee sometime. How's this weekend for you?"

"I dunno…" Yuuri muttered. "Any friend of yours has got to be freaky. I think I should be worried for my safety."

"Hey, you're my friend, aren't you? I don't think you're particularly scary. Hell, you're not scary to a flea," Murata said.

"Shut up. But yeah, I guess I could swing that. Dad and Shori might have problems with it, though. They might've wanted to spend some time with me this weekend."

Murata waved a hand. "They can do without you for a few hours on Sunday, right? Oh, that's right – your family is full of drama queens, isn't it?"

"Yeah. No joke," Yuuri sighed. "I guess they can deal if it's Sunday. If I tried to duck out on Saturday, it would be a nightmare."

"So, 11:00 or something?"

"Sure."

"Bitchin'."

* * *

It was done. A quick double tap from Conrad's HK-MP 7 and a murderer who had only gotten off of a technicality was no more. The families of his victims would sleep a little better tonight. But now Conrad had to look for his next and final job. So who was next? Who was he supposed to drop, one last time? He'd been surfing the special encrypted website on which jobs were posted semi-anonymously – if an assassin accepted a job, the correspondence between them could be used to backtrace to the client and find his or her identity.

He didn't want to do some humdrum, normal job. He'd also like for it to be local-ish, but you couldn't always have everything you wanted in life. Or in death, in this case.

All of a sudden, a file caught his eye. It read, "HIGH SCHOOL DRUG DEALER NEEDS TO GO". The vocabulary and phrasing of a kindergartner, but the message was still sound. It was always nice to help out the kids. He clicked the link, folding his hand over his mouth and resting his elbow on the desk. The article was pretty specific, but didn't name or give a face to the kid dealer, as was usual. That information was usually only dispensed once a hitman agreed to take the job. All right. He'd take it. Hey; it sounded like his kind of thing. God knows he'd have trouble shooting a teenager, but if the guy was handing out crack and LSD to minors, he could probably get over it. He typed up a curt note of acceptance to the provided e-mail address and parked his ass down, waiting for a response. Surprisingly, it took very little time.

Conrad opened the reply and gasped. The picture and the name. That was all the e-mail contained, but… dear sweet Jesus. The boy was beautiful. Breath-taking. Stunning. Like an angel in a high school uniform. That shy, withdrawn little smile was adorable and innocent. How could… Shibuya Yuuri (gorgeous name, by the way)… be something so base as a drug dealer? It was impossible. Unthinkable. Ridiculous.

But Conrad couldn't judge based on appearances alone. For all he knew, this kid was a horrible little shit, a psychopath. He couldn't know – he'd never met the kid. But maybe… maybe he should. No, that was professional suicide. He couldn't just back out of the deal now. That was an absolute. Oh… what had he just agreed to do?

His cellphone blared a polyphonic version of "The Lion Sleeps Tonight". Yozak.

"Yozak, what do you want?"

"Commander! Hi. Caller ID gave me away, huh? Rats. Foiled again. Anyway, I wanted to check to see how free you were going to be Sunday."

Conrad frowned, leaning all the way back in his chair to reach the little appointment book he kept on the opposite table. "This upcoming Sunday, you mean? Yeah, I think I'm free. Practically no one works on the weekends, anyway. What for?"

"I picked up this great little buddy. He's Mazoku, don't worry. Pure evil, but don't let that get in the way of anything."

"That's why you like him, isn't it?"

"Because he's evil? Hell, yeah," Yozak said. Conrad could practically hear the smirk.

"So, what is this Sunday that involves your new 'great little buddy'?"

"We're meeting him and a friend of his for coffee at 11."

"…What's this guy's name?"

"Ken."

"Friend's name?"

"Dunno. He wouldn't tell me. Said it was some sorta surprise or nonsense like that. Couldn't tell ya. Just know that Ken's a high schooler, and a good kid at that. No one's going to pull a shotgun on you in the middle of a Starbucks just because you don't know the name of a guy who's getting dragged along into a lunch date. I don't know his name or face either, if it helps." Conrad only sighed. "So, are you in or not?" Yozak asked.

Another deep sigh. "No way around it, I suppose."

"Bitchin'."

* * *

(A/N): My hand is cramping again. So is my left side. And I can't feel my legs 'cause I'm sitting in freaking Seiza without meaning to and then my cat decided that there was no better place to be than my lap, thereby ensuring that no blood would ever reach my legs. Gah. Again, I maintain that Yozak is so much fun to write. This time, so was Murata.

Yes, I totally made up all that stuff in Shori's office on the fly. I had to come up with some reason for Stoffel to be a pissy little girl, and I didn't know what most political scams look like, so I kind of borrowed a concept from some detective show I watch on the telly, but then I realised that it didn't make sense on television, either. So it makes even LESS sense here. Just… ignore my stupidity. I didn't do research on that particular part of the plot. Frankly, I think I'm going to be too lazy to fix it later, either.

Well, hope you don't want to stab me for being relatively incoherent.

Review fast or die slow.


	4. Chapter 3: Der Anfang des Endes

Chapter four in what, a week or so? I'm awesome. Don't deny it. I'm also totally geeking out that people reviewed. For a while, it looked like no one was reading this whatsoever, let alone reviewing. So, in honor of that, this chapter is, like, four pages longer than normal.

DISCLAIMER: If I owned any portion of KKM, the anime would've incorporated PERV!Conrad a little more than it did – because it didn't. It's like they edited it out of his personality. Uuurgh. Friggin' network producers. Bunch of bitchy little girls.

* * *

Saturday had been a nightmare, as Yuuri had anticipated. His father had wanted to go for a nice lunch out with the family, but Jennifer had gotten angry that her husband preferred any food over that which his wife had cooked. Shori had wanted everyone to shut up; apparently, the people he'd met with the day before were a special brand of annoying that gave Shori horrible migraines to think about. Shori hadn't wanted to go out, to be sure, but Yuuri had kind of been on his father's side. Eventually, they'd settled on ordering in. The pizza was really good, but for some reason his mother continued to act like a kicked puppy in the face of her husband and son's joint adversity.

Sunday was going to be a God-send, if for no other purpose than to get Yuuri out of the house for a few hours. Maybe he would lie a bit about the time he was supposed to get home, just to have an hour or two more of freedom. Sweet, sweet freedom.

Yuuri yanked on the first pair of jeans he could find, then thought. He didn't exactly want to look like a slob the first time he ever met Murata's college friends. It just seemed wrong. But then again, Yuuri was one of those boys who couldn't coordinate an outfit to save his life. He breathed deeply. There was no choice. God protect him.

"Mother?" he called out timidly into the empty hall from his room. "Mom, I… need some help-"

"You want me to help you pick out what to wear? Oh, joy!" _Oh GOD, where had she come from?_

"Ah – er, yes?"

"Yaaaaaay!"

"But no dresses or girl clothes!"

"Oooh, killjoy," his mother glared at him before muscling her way into his room. "Okay, so, you only should be wearing _clean_ clothes, none of this nonsense on the floor that you've probably worn about five times already but refuse to let me wash." Yuuri laughed nervously. "And oh! I didn't know you had this shirt! It's adorable! I must've picked this out for you… And these pants should fit you better than that loose junk you wear most days when you pick out your own clothes. And you'll need a scarf – it's getting a little chilly out. And a hat would look so darling on you~!" She hummed a ditty from 'Singing in the Rain' as she worked to pick out a perfect outfit, occasionally switching out whatever she'd picked first, then of course switching out everything else to compliment the switched article.

At length, she was happy with the ensemble. Yuuri was surprised. It was tasteful and fashionable without being girly or screaming of the "I'm super-duper GHEY" vibes, which he'd been terrified would've somehow been incorporated.

"So, Yuu-chan, try it on! I want to see how it fits you – should I maybe try for a different color-scheme…?" Her fingers inched towards the clothes on the bed.

"No!" he cried. "Er – ah, what I mean to say is… I like this one. I really do. Thank you for your help, mother. Plus, I think if we stay here any longer, I'm gonna be really late." Okay, so he was fudging the facts a little. Just a little. He ushered his mother out of the room, locked the door, and began changing.

The floor-length mirror on the inside of his closet door helped him get everything just right (although he decided in the end to ditch the hat). He smiled at his reflection, pleased that for once he didn't dress like a hobo, and took off with a couple hundred yen in his back pocket for coffee.

The coffee place was pretty empty. Yuuri wasn't sure if that was normal or not, since he'd never been a big fan of either the atmosphere or the drink, but at least it made it pretty easy to find Murata. The friend also stood out quite a bit.

The guy had flaming reddish-orange hair that _had_ to be dyed, and he didn't exactly look like a college kid. He looked more late-20s, like he should be in the workforce already. But something about that youthful face made Yuuri think that the guy might be much younger on the inside than he looked.

Yuuri slid in on Murata's side of the booth.

"'Bout damn time you showed up, Shibuya!" Murata said. "I thought maybe you were ditching us!"

"Hey, I'm on time, right?"

"No. You're ten minutes late. You forgot that the clock in your room is ten minutes late, didn't you?"

Yuuri bit his lip and put on a kicked-puppy face (quite reminiscent of his mother's). "Yeah, I totally forgot. I'm sorry. Besides, Mom was trying to keep me behind. I made the mistake of asking her to pick out my clothes for the first time in five years."

Murata raised an eyebrow. "'Mistake'? You look great – that was hardly a mistake. Just remember about your clock next time."

"Hey," interrupted the redheaded friend. "You gonna introduce me or what, kiddo?"

Murata tossed a goofy grin at the man that gave Yuuri the shivers and complied. "Yozak Grier, this is Shibuya Yuuri. Yuuri, this is Yozak. I hope you can get along."

"Come on kid; I don't bite. Hard. 'Less you want me to," Yozak said, holding out a hand and winking.

Yuuri took the hand with much trepidation. "Er… pleasure to meet you?"

"Yeah. You too. I've got a friend who's supposed to be here by now, but he's wicked late. And here I always thought he was the punctual type." Yozak shook his head, as though in grief. "I'm gonna have to yell at him when – or _if_ – he actually shows up. Maybe I should throw something at him, too. Anyone wanna help?"

"Oh, me, me, meee!" Murata said, waving a hand madly in the air like an over-eager first-grader.

Somehow, Yuuri had the feeling that it was going to be a long three hours.

* * *

Oh, frickin' A. Just… frickin' A.

Conrad had been staring into the coffee shop for the last half hour, making sure that nothing was out of place or amiss before he would entrust his safety to the public structure. He had a pair of binoculars and a newspaper, and a hat, which he could put on or take off whenever he needed a cheap disguise. Hats were often to best way to confuse people trailing you, since a lot of the time, they relied on a person's hairstyle and clothes rather than their physical features.

He'd done his research on the kid, Murata Ken, and had come up with a great big heap of nothing. The boy was clean as a whistle, although probably just a bit deranged if he'd managed to make friends with _Yozak_, of all people (and Conrad had his private suspicions that perhaps they might be more than friends as well). Murata had been the first to arrive at the coffee shop, reserving a corner booth near the back of the establishment, but not by the kitchens. To Conrad's trained tactical eye, that booth had been the best vantage point – there was nothing to your back but a wall, and everything in the place could be easily seen and countered before things got too dangerous. Okay, so there was more than met the eye to the little Japanese boy.

Yozak was next to show up, surprisingly. He'd always been the type to be ridiculously late, as Conrad had previously noted, and yet he had arrived before Murata's friend had. The soon-to-be-ex-assassin had planned to wait until the other nameless friend showed up (and until he had gotten a good impression of the guy) before showing up himself. At this rate, he was going to be disgustingly late. Yozak would probably hit him or yell at him when he finally walked through the door. Oh, the price of security.

But then, who should walk in but? – Shibuya Yuuri. Of course. Of course. Conrad had, singularly, the shittiest luck on Earth. The friend of a friend of a friend was the drug dealer kid he was supposed to off within the next week. Oh, Jesus Christ. He had to admit, though, the boy looked like he'd just stepped out of a fashion magazine and onto to street, with form-fitting, but not skin-tight jeans, a buttoned-up peacoat, and a lilac-colored scarf. The styles were a little feminine, but somehow, it suited that face perfectly. He had to keep from drooling a little. Using his binoculars, he read the lips of Murata and Shibuya both, going by what they said since Yozak's back was to the door and therefore the storefront windows. It seemed like totally innocent conversation. Nothing strange about it. And after all, there was no way that Shibuya could already know about his own death warrant, let alone who had taken the job. It was completely safe. All that was left was to waltz in, see if Shibuya was really the monster he'd been made out to be, and later, kill him. Somehow, that sounded badly phrased even to Conrad.

He put the binoculars back into his bag (it was NOT a man-purse, dammit!) and threw the newspaper into a nearby recycling bin and made for the glass doors.

The bell at the top of the door jingled as he opened it. He winced. He really hated these places. They provided no anonymity whatsoever. "Conrad!" Yozak yelled. Point in case. "You're late! Later than _I_ usually am! What's gotten into you, man?"

Conrad pointedly waited until he'd gotten to the corner booth and sat down next to Yozak to speak. "Sorry. Got stuck in traffic." Ah, the age-old classic. Such excuses never went out of style.

Yozak didn't buy it. "Fat chance. The traffic was fine when I drove over."

"Well, maybe you took a different route than I did," Conrad said.

"Hmm," Yozak put on a sour face. "But anyway, let me do the honors. This one over here is my bud, Murata Ken."

"Nice to meet you, Conrad, is it?" Murata held out a hand. Conrad shook it, nodding a head as graciously as he could. He tried for a smile and was pretty sure he'd gotten it right, since Murata was smiling back.

"Conrad Weller. Pleased to meet you at long last. I've heard some terrifying – er, nice – things about you." The boy's smile widened impishly. Oh, yes. This was Yozak's type, alright.

"And this," Yozak said, sweeping a hand, "is Shibuya Yuuri."

"H-hi," Yuuri said, his face a little flushed in the cool air of the shop. He held out a hand as though he wasn't quite sure if it was the proper thing to do at the time. Conrad took the hand and gave it a firm shake, the back of his mind ever suspicious. On the outside, though, his smile grew much warmer. Yuuri was as adorable as his photo had suggested, only infinitely more shy and human in his behavior. The drug dealer label kept shrinking away from the light the kid gave off. The small smile he gave back to Conrad nearly obliterated it completely.

"Hey. What should I call you, or do you not have a preference?" he asked.

"Just 'Yuuri' is fine," he said. "I get uncomfortable if people call me anything other than my birth name." He shot his friend a look.

"It's much the same in my home country," Conrad said. "We only call each other by our given names, so just 'Conrad' is fine for me, too."

"Good to know."

"Umm, guys?" Yozak said. Both looked over at him.

"You can stop shaking hands now," Murata said.

It was true; their hands were still locked together. As soon as they noticed, though, they sprang apart as though they'd been shaking hands with hot coals.

"Er, sorry about that," Yuuri muttered. "I wasn't paying attention."

"It's okay," Conrad said. Christ, what had gotten into him? He'd seen people die horribly all around him, he'd killed countless people in the last half a century, but one smile and a handshake from a cute kid knocked him for ten? What the hell? Wait, he shouldn't even be thinking of the boy – no, Yuuri – as anything other than a target. He was a drug dealer, wasn't he?

On that note, Conrad looked Yuuri over. If he were really dealing, there should be some signs on his clothes or physical features to give him away. There should be a faint smell, too, but there was no way to check that without being overly awkward. Well, more awkward than things already were. His clothes should have some kind of powder or inexplicable pale spots on them, but they were pristine. His eyes should be a tiny bit bloodshot, but they were clear and actually very lovely eyes to be looking at. Conrad shook himself out of that one. He should also look like he'd been losing sleep or something. Instead, he looked as well rested as any teenaged boy could be expected to be. There might be a tremor in the hands, inexplicable bulges in pockets, or a strange high quality to his clothes. Yuuri's hands did shake a tiny bit, but that could be indicative of numerous other things. The only bulge in his pocket was a cell phone, which Conrad had seen him pull out to call his mother earlier with his binoculars. His clothes didn't look new, exactly. In fact, the more he looked, the more he noted that the jeans were a bit short, and the coat worn. There was no kind of wealth about the boy that he couldn't possibly have bar the sale of illegal substances. Hell, he'd needed to borrow a hundred yen from Murata when they were ordering their coffee, not expecting the high prices of the establishment. There was almost no way around it. Almost none of the signs were present.

Yuuri couldn't possibly be a drug dealer.

Well, Conrad couldn't just go on those signs. Not all dealers were users, either. Not all of them were going to exhibit the signs. He'd see if he could get a few swabs of Yuuri's clothes. If the samples tested negative for the drugs mentioned in the profile, Yuuri was officially in the clear. The only question left was why anyone would want the little angel dead for something he'd never done…

"Hey, Conrad?" Yozak asked.

He snapped back to reality. "Yes?"

"Did you want to get something here? I know you're not a big fan of coffee, but…" His voice trailed off as Conrad was already shaking his head.

"Coffee's just not my thing. Bitter, actually, is just not my thing. Plus, I have no cash on me whatsoever and I'm not gonna borrow from you. You charge interest, for God's sake."

Yuuri spoke up. "If you don't like bitter things, what kind of foods do you like?"

Conrad was surprised. So surprised that he completely missed the knowing (and a bit triumphant) look that Yozak and Murata shared at the question. "I rather like sweet things. And meat. Stews are my favorites, most of the time."

"Really? I usually just eat whatever Mom puts in front of me," Yuuri said, smiling more easily now.

"What does your mom make?"

"Curry, mostly. She's a pretty good cook, although I suppose anyone would be if they stayed at home with nothing else to do all day."

The conversation continued with input from around the table, completely meaningless, but somehow fun all the same. Conrad was delighted to find that Yuuri was a baseball boy, and Yuuri was ecstatic to finally have found a pitcher to practice with.

"So, you're on scholarship?" Conrad asked, impressed.

"Yeah," Yuuri said, blushing and moving a hand to scratch the back of his head. "Full scholarship to the college of my choice. I haven't picked yet."

"Nice, kid," Yozak said, whistling.

"Yeah, no lie," Murata added. "Of all the games played last year, Yuuri's team only lost once, and when they went up against that same team again in spring, they won by seven points. Intense season, I'll tell you that much."

"I thought you were a soccer guy?"

"Oh, I am; I just feel like I should be interested in what my friend's doing with his time, as well. No reason I can't have multiple interests."

"True, true."

"Hey, Conrad, Yozak?" Yuuri asked hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"What college do you go to?"

"…Eh?" Conrad was really confused. Did he _look_ college-age or something? He'd always thought he looked a bit more mature than the masses of twenty-year-olds he'd seen pouring out of university buildings.

"Oh! That! Uhh… I'm the only one in college," Yozak said, clearly making this shit up as he went. "I got a job right after high school, but then I decided I wanted a higher paycheck, so I decided to go back to school after all this time. Conrad here is a grad of MIT in America. He's in the military now."

Conrad shot both confused and irate looks at his eclectic friend before deciding to go with the flow. "Yeah. I was ROTC in school, and I'm an officer now."

"Wow," Yuuri breathed. "What is it like?"

"…Thinking of joining up?"

"Not particularly."

"Good. Don't ever join," Conrad said. Yuuri looked surprised. "The military is not a good place to ever be. They preach all these wonderful goals and then go hypocritical on you at the last second. They glorify war and suffering when in reality, there's nothing glorious about it at all. If the military isn't really and truly where your heart is, never _ever_ join. It'll kill you from the inside out."

"And on that note, let's change the subject," Yozak said. "My buddy here has his regrets, in case you couldn't tell."

"Mm," Yuuri said quietly, although his features were etched with worry.

"Oh, Jeez," Murata gasped, looking at his watch. "I've gotta be somewhere. Does anyone mind if I run?"

"Soccer game?" Yuuri guessed, getting up to let his friend out of the corner seat.

"You got it. I gotta freaking go – see you, Yozak!" He blew a kiss to the redheaded man, who returned the gesture to the bewildered looks of the rest of the company.

"See you, darling!"

Murata was out of the door and away before anyone could so much as blink.

"Yozak…" Conrad began. "Are you… by any chance…?"

"Yeah," he said. "What can I say? I love the oddballs. I had a crush on you for a time, didn't I-_awwjeezthathurt_." He shut up with an elbow to the ribcage. "Okay, okay. I see how it is. I'm gonna just… limp over to the restroom here. Be back in a few."

"Oh, please. I didn't hurt you _that_ badly," Conrad muttered, but Yozak was already gone.

"So…" Yuuri cleared his throat.

"So."

"I was wondering…" they said simultaneously.

Yuuri laughed slightly. "It's okay, it's okay, you go first."

"No, you, I insist."

Yuuri shifted from foot to foot nervously. "I guess I was just kind of wondering if, you know, maybe… maybe we could go to a game sometime. If you want to, that is." He was blushing furiously.

Conrad gave a radiant smile. "I'd love that. Any idea when?"

"Not really. Any old time, I guess. Should I call you, or you call me, or what?"

"Tell you what. We'll exchange numbers so we can call whenever either one of us can find a good time. Sound good?"

"Sure!" Yuuri said, practically glowing. Using the coffee shop napkins and a pen that Conrad had squirreled away in his bag, they wrote down their numbers, accompanied with a name and in Yuuri's case, a bad pun.

"Shibuya Yuuri Harajuku Fuuri?" Conrad asked.

"Don't ask. It's a terrible pun-slash-nickname that I've had since I was, like, two. It's just become habit to write my name that way."

"Aww, I think it's cute," Conrad said, making the younger boy blush and stare at his feet.

Yozak, from around the corner, chuckled wickedly, whipping a cell phone out of his shirt. He used speed-dial and waited for the other to pick up. "Ken! Ken! It worked, you evil genius, you!"

"Excellent! I just knew it! I was kind of worried at first, but it's going well, you say?"

"Not just 'well', my little monstrosity of a match-maker, Shibuya just asked Conrad out on a date! They're exchange numbers, the whole nine yards! Oh, I could just cry, they're so cute together."

"I wish I could see without blowing my cover… get a picture with your cell phone and send it to me, okay?"

"You got it," Yozak said. He ended the call and switched over to the camera function. He snapped three quick shots, decided on the best one and sent it. He could practically hear the squeals his beloved schemer of evil deeds would emit when he saw it.

And now Yuuri was leaving, waving goodbye to Conrad and turning left onto the street. Yozak took that as his cue to re-enter the stage.

"So, Mister Loverboy, what was _that_ all about?"

Conrad turned, glaring. "Shut the hell up."

"Oh? Now why would I do that? So, did you face-plant for him yet? I know he's cute, but frankly, I'd been worried that maybe you were going to be too stoic and asshole-y to be charming. Seems I was dead wrong, now wasn't I? Soon as you walked in here, the kid started drooling. He's got a good eye, I must say."

"Yozak!"

"What? You want me to lie?"

"Quit talking like you know everything! It's pissing me off," Conrad said.

"Oh, that's so cute! You're blushing! I didn't think it was possible, but here it is! Forgive my fangirl squeal, but you're just too cute like that."

"We're not dating! We're just going to a game sometime!"

"Which is totally only for manly-man bonding time, is it?"

"Yes! So quit reading in to what's not there to be read!"

"Hmm…" Yozak raised a speculative eyebrow. "So you don't want a piece of that a-ma-zing athlete ass of his."

"No."

Yozak kept that same I-don't-believe-a-word face as he said, "Fine. Have it your way. I thought I had you pegged, but maybe I've lost my touch. Although, if that boy isn't good enough for you, no one ever will be. Have fun growing old and dying alone, sweetie pie. At least _I'll_ come to your funeral, since no one else will." And with that, he twiddled his fingers behind him and left Conrad alone in the shop, reeking of coffee fumes.

* * *

As soon as Yuuri had left the shop, an arm reached out and yanked him into a back alley. He'd been getting ready to scream before realizing that it was Murata.

"So?" Murata asked. "Whaddya think? Of Conrad, I mean?"

"Eh? Er – what do you mean?"

"Don't give me that crap, Shibuya! I have it from a reliable source that you and the Hunk of Meat traded numbers. Let me in on all the details!"

"I swear, Murata, you're a teenaged girl some days."

"Yes, but that's not the point, nor will it ever be. Just tell me and I'll shut up, okay?" Murata said, bouncing in place.

"We're just going to a game together sometime."

"And who's place are you going to afterwards?"

Yuuri turned cherry-red. "Murata, I can't believe you! Don't joke like that!" He hid his face in his hands, dreadfully embarrassed. Actually, the worst part of it all was that it sounded like a fabulous idea. Already his mind was rolling in the gutters.

"Ah, well, what's done is done. So… you don't like him?"

"Ah, well… I _do_, it's just…"

"Just what?"

"He's so mature, and I probably sound like a fucking idiot when he's around, I mean, I stutter, and I blush like a dork, and he's so ridiculously good-looking and what the hell am I? I've got no looks, no brains, and no money. What's there to even _like_?"

Murata looked at him pityingly. "Oh, Shibuya. You've got it _really_ bad, don't you?"

Yuuri looked up with a miserable face. "Actually… I think I love him."

"Holy shit," Murata said, blindsided. "That was fast."

"I know," he moaned. "Why do you think it scares me so much?"

"Shibuya," Murata said, slinging an arm around his friend and leading him out of the alleyway, "we need to have a nice long chat about what you are and are not supposed to do when you have a nice big crush on someone…"

* * *

(A/N): Eleven pages as opposed to the usual six and one half. Crazy shit right here.

I know I'm going a little fast along the plot, but frankly, there's a lot of material to cover, and if I don't go through it fast, I won't be able to keep up my production rate all the way until the end. I need to ride the wave of my enthusiasm and milk it for all it's freaking worth, which is typically two and a half weeks at most.

Mad props to my reviewers. ^^ I love you people like a fat kid loves a Snicker Bar.

Review fast or die… come on, you know the words!


	5. Chapter 4: Es ist von der Küche gekommen

Heya, everybody! I was blown a-freaking-way by all the reviews that popped up for the last chapter! I followed the advice that pyrrhicvictoly gave me about changing the rating to T so that I wouldn't scare off all of you innocent little buggers and BAM! – all of a sudden, my inbox tells me I'm getting 17 freaking e-mails. Daaaaang. Y'all are some awesome people! I love that you actually took the time to review!

I apologize that I missed yesterday's update – I had to go to the hospital, and then there were a bunch of things I had to do for school (exams coming up), and it was an Art Club meeting day, and it was Family Canasta Night… I just didn't have the time ANYWHERE in my schedule to sit down and write. This 'un took enough time as it was.

DISCLAIMER: I'm one o' them broke-ass folk. Sue someone when you can actually get a payday from it.

* * *

_**Monday**_

Stoffel paced his office, continually gazing out of the wall of windows at the breathtaking German countryside. A few times here and there, he would flick his eyes over to the wall clock, awaiting the arrival of his trusted adviser.

When the door to his office opened, Stoffel gave the visitor his full attention – and volume.

"Raven!" he yelled. "Is it done?!"

"Er… not yet, exactly, sir," Raven replied.

"And why _not_?"

"…That is unclear as of yet, sir."

Stoffel shook in anger. "Dependable, you said. Easy, you said, _Quick_, you said! Well, at the rate this is going, nothing's _ever _going to happen! That pretentious little prick will _never_ get his, and my own damn assassin may be of a mind to _report_ me to the _authorities_!"

"Well," Raven reasoned, "you _did_ take out a contract on an innocent high-schooler…"

"Shut up, Raven, just shut up!"

"Yes, sir."

"There's nothing for it. It's been a week, which was the time limit, right? Right. I'll re-post the Shibuya hit and create one for the first assassin."

"But we don't even know his name. Are you sure that would work?"

Stoffel grinned. "Well, if they want to get paid, I'm sure they'll find a way to find him, whoever he is. Do it. I want to see the Shibuya-otouto dead by Friday at the latest."

"Yes, sir." Despite his cool tone, Raven had his misgivings about it all. His master may very well have gone off the deep end this time, and he wasn't sure if the man needed company.

* * *

_**Wednesday**_

Yuuri hadn't been kidding when he'd told Murata that he'd loved Conrad. Well, okay, maybe he'd been jumping the gun a little. A squeak. A dash. He was _falling_ in love, that was it. He'd tried to explain his slip-up in exact word choice to Murata about fourteen times, but to no avail. His friend simply would not accept any kind of correction to the original statement, although it was unclear as to whether it was out of disbelief or joy for his friend's no-longer-extinct love life. With him, there was no way to be sure.

The first "date", as it were, had been both awkward and sweet. The baseball game hadn't featured any interesting (or even _good_) teams, so most of their time had been spent discussing how they would do each player's job better. It had been fun for the first five innings, but after that, there was nothing new to comment on. A wonderful part, though, had been during the bottom of the eighth, when the home team's clean-up batter hit an easy pitch into the stands. Left alone, it would've gone over their heads, but when Yuuri had voiced disappointment at the inevitable, a pair of strong arms had wrapped around his waist and hoisted him high into the air. He'd raised his arms at just the right moment to catch the tattered game ball in a bare hand. Laughing, he'd fallen back down onto Conrad's lap, turned, and hugged his official favorite person on Earth.

Yuuri smiled to himself as he remembered how red Conrad's face had gotten then. It had been so cute! Originally, he hadn't expected the stoic, silent man to ever fit the label of "cute", but that assumption had been blown out of the water. Conrad had a smile that could down military aircraft, and eyes that were hard to meet and still find the willpower to look away afterwards. Even the way he moved suited the man perfectly. Despite his considerable size, he moved with power and strength. Yozak had moved pretty well, too, but he lacked Conrad's grace. When the two of them had left the baseball stadium, Yuuri had worked up the guts to hold his – dare he think it? – _boyfriend's_ hand, and Conrad hadn't pulled away.

He hadn't pulled away.

Yuuri half-danced down the hallway of his home just thinking about it. Today, Conrad had been informally invited over to dinner along with Murata and possibly Yozak, although the redhead was supposedly a bit tied up with his university classes just then. So what was he doing reminiscing in the hallway when he was supposed to be helping his mother set up the dining room?!

At what was approximately the speed of light, the boy (well, he was eighteen now, so he was hardly a boy anymore) sped down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"Mom-!" he began.

"Relax, honey. I already set the table. All I need you to do now is man the door!" Yuuri complied, heading for the foyer and peeking through the peephole. There wasn't much to see, since no one was there as of yet. The distorted view of his front lawn was still more interesting than the view from the small window in the top of the door.

_Okay_, he thought, _when Conrad gets here, I'm gonna hold his hand. I'm just gonna go in there all kamikaze on him and damn the consequences!_ He gulped. Well, it wasn't like he had too much to lose. They weren't even official boyfriends, and truth be told, he was too terrified to ask for a definition of their relationship. What if he had assumed too much? What if Conrad didn't have any special affection for him and was just plain obscenely nice to everyone? Judging by how freaking perfect Conrad was (aside from the horrible old man puns – yes, he'd had a run-in with those, but luckily had managed to block out most of the memory), it was a serious option.

A beaten-up black Rav-4 pulled up to the front of the house. From the baseball excursion, Yuuri recognized Conrad's car. It was an ancient thing, nearly filled to the brim with paraphernalia of questionable purpose and worth that Yuuri hadn't even bothered to look at when he'd been in it. The sheer quantity had been too daunting. But papers and packages, clothes and food, gadgets and trash alike did not keep Conrad – and, as Yuuri could see now, Yozak – from fitting inside.

Yuuri pulled the door open with a wide grin, his worries (and plans of hand-holding) forgotten. "Hey, Conrad! And Yozak, too, hey! I thought you couldn't make it," he said.

"Oh, I skipped," Yozak said, winking. "Like I'm really gonna pass up a chance to get me some free food and good company? Just for a class? Not a chance."

"Hey, Yuuri," Conrad said with a charming smile.

"Hey," he said back shyly. "Please, come on in." He stepped aside to admit them.

"Thanks."

"Oh, holy shit! Something smells fabulous!"

"That's Mama's curry!" Miko said, coming out of the kitchen.

"Eh?" Conrad blinked. "Yuuri, I didn't know you had a sister."

She giggled and blushed. "Oh, you lady-killer, you. I'm Hamano Jennifer, Yuu-chan's Mama." She held out a hand, which he took.

"Pleased to meet you ma'am." Woah! He hadn't even questioned the strange pseudonym his mother was so fond of using. Nicely played, Weller, nicely played.

"Oooh!" She giggled louder, turning and running back to the kitchen. Before she'd quite gotten there, she snagged her youngest son by the arm and whispered, "You picked a keeper this time, Yuu-chan. I approve." He squeaked in embarrassment.

"Ah, er – the dining room's this way, if you'll follow me."

Shori was already sitting down, probably in an effort to look intimidating to the new intruders in Yuuri's life. He got to his feet as the men entered.

"Hello," he said. "I'm Shibuya Shori, Yuuri's older brother. Pleased to meet you, but if you fuck with my family, I'll break your face and perhaps something else besides."

"Understood," Conrad said, shaking hands with the other man as if he'd just complimented his shoes.

Yuuri, on the other hand, was absolutely furious. "Shori! Don't antagonize the guests, goddamn it!"

"Call me onii-san."

"Go to hell."

"Yuuri!"

He turned to look. "Oh… Dad! Er – hi. I didn't mean that."

"It doesn't mean you didn't say it," he grumbled. He then turned to Conrad and Yozak and have them a warm smile. "Welcome, both of you. I'm Shibuya Shoma. Forgive my sons; both of them are barbarians produced by the mass media in the current day and age. Please, sit down. You're guests here."

As both complied, Conrad opting for the seat next to Yuuri's, Murata came in from the kitchen, wearing a pink frilly apron. He half-ran over to Yozak, glomming on him instantly.

"Hiya, sweet thing," Yozak said.

"Hiya, darling," Murata said. With that, he leaned over and kissed the redhead.

"If you'll pardon me, I have to go clean out my eyes with rubbing alcohol and lighter fluid," Yuuri said.

"Please, Shibuya, have some decorum," Murata said. "You could've put that a little better, I'd say. Not to mention that your time is going to be a little occupied helping your Mama with whatever it is she wants you to do now."

"She asked me to come in there?"

"Spot-on. Which is why I get a break to cuddle with my honey-bear." Yuuri made a mad dash for the kitchen.

"Hey, Yuu-chan!" his mother said. "Why don't you come over here and help me cut these carrots?"

As he walked over, he noticed something wrong. The carrots were already chopped. "Mother, what is this all about?"

She slung an arm over his shoulders, bringing him down to her eye-level. "Yuu-chan, I seriously need to know just one thing. One thing, and I won't bother you for the rest of the night. Now, as a mother, it is my duty to see to the well-being and happiness of my sons, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live. That, of course, includes being assured of your happiness when it comes to your chosen partners, as well." Yuuri rolled his eyes. He knew what was coming next. "And dear, having given your choice my full evaluation, I'm pleased with your good taste. Well, you are _my_ son, after all, so it's to be expected. But what I wanted to ask was… When can I plan to go shopping for wedding dresses?!"

Expecting her reaction was not quite the same thing as actually hearing it. Yuuri had, somewhere deep down, hoped that his mother would have been more tactful in asking about his love life, but no such luck. He counted to one hundred by fives in his head to keep from yelling. "Mother, we're not dating. There's no wedding. And I don't even want to _think_ about who would be wearing a dress even if there _were_."

She looked like a child who had just been robbed of her candy. "Oooh, you're no fun at all, Yuu-chan. Although I am definitely surprised to hear that you're not going out. Isn't he the same guy who took you out to the baseball game on Monday?"

"Well, yeah, but that's not indicative of a long-term relationship, Mother!"

She sighed. "Okay, you're right. I guess not. Can you blame me for hoping? But, did you ever have any intention of asking him out? Properly, I mean?"

Here's where the questions got harder to answer. "I… I dunno, maybe… Jeez, Mom, now is not the time for this! Can it wait? At least until I can figure out what it is that's even going on?"

"Alright," she said. "But I expect a long, detailed report!" She brandished a wooden spoon. "If you don't get around to answering me, I'll beat you blind!"

"Umm, Mom?"

"What?"

"The curry's boiling over."

"Eh?" She turned. "AAAAAAH!!! Oh _no_, Yuu-chan, why didn't you say something _EARLIER_?" she cried as she yanked the pot off of the burner and attempted to clean the stainless steal sides.

"I don't know, we were talking about stuff and I didn't even notice until just now!"

She stirred the pot, tossing in the carrots that she probably should've put in a good five minutes ago. "Phew. Looks like the actual curry is fine. It just boiled a little faster than expected. I should probably serve it now instead of putting it back on the burner, just to be on the safe side."

"Yeah," he agreed. "SOUP'S UP!" he yelled out to the dining room. Cheers from Murata and Yozak resounded.

Two by two, Yuuri carried steaming dishes of curry and rice to each person at the table, saving himself for last. After his mother had managed to cover up the pot and put it somewhere where it wouldn't overheat or cool off too much, she took her seat, too.

"Yuu-chan, since you helped me out so much, please say Grace for us, dear," she said.

He winced. He sucked at saying Grace. "Umm… Thank you, O Lord, for granting us the miracle that is my mother's cooking. Today we have the special honor of having two guests over – after all, Murata's been here so often, he doesn't really count as a guest anymore – I would like to offer a special thank-you. Of course, since we don't want to take anything you give us for granted, we'll be cutting Grace kinda short today and digging in while it's still hot. Amen. ITADAKIMASU!"

The table gave him an odd look, but repeated the phrase after him and began to make a dent in their food. It was wonderful, as expected, but Yuuri had, out of habit, put more rice on his plate than actual curry, and it was drying out his throat. He coughed slightly.

"Yuu-chan? Are you alright?" asked Shoma.

He coughed again. "Yeah, Dad. I just forgot to get something to drink."

"Oh, I'll get it!" Miko said, standing up already. "Tea, right?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Mom."

"Not a big water person?" asked Conrad.

Yuuri blushed and smiled. "Not really. It's nice when you're outside on a summer day, but when you're inside, at night, with family, tea's just more appealing. To me, at least."

"I'll have to remember that, then," he said. "Every time I go to the supermarket, I see some interesting flavors of tea. Maybe I could pick a few up for you next time I go?"

Yuuri's smile widened. "You don't have to do that, but it's really, really sweet of you to be thinking of me." Whatever he might've wanted to say after that would've been drowned out by the grinding of Shori's teeth from across the table.

"Got it, honey!" Miko said, coming back in from the kitchen. She put a steaming mug in front of her son, which he accepted gratefully.

"Thanks."

"No problem, honey."

But there was a problem. A little more than halfway through the meal, Yuuri leaned forward, putting his elbow on the table and his hand to his forehead. He looked somewhat pale and blinked frequently.

"Yuuri? Are you alright?" Conrad asked.

"Ah – yeah. Just a headache, I think. And my stomach kind of hurts."

"Do you think you're coming down with something?"

Yuuri laughed quietly. "How could that be? I was fine before we sat down and started eating."

"You might want to go lay down for a while," Shori said. "Even if it's something small, you should treat it like it's something big."

"Nnn… nu-uh. I don't wanna…" And with that, Yuuri fell from his seat.

"Yuuri!"

"Yu-chan!"

"Shibuya!"

Conrad had caught him before he hit the floor, but now he was practically fighting the larger man. "Wh-where the hell am I? I don't wanna go anywhere…"

"Yuuri. Yuuri, look at me." The boy made an effort to meet his eyes, but failed.

"Like Jesus…" he muttered.

"What?"

"He looks… like Jesus… got a halo. Can't see for fuck…" Yuuri mumbled.

Halo? Can't see? Sounded like hallucinations. Upset stomach, headaches, dizziness, confusion, and hallucinations. It wasn't much to go on by symptoms alone. Maybe… but how could that be? They'd all eaten the same food, right? It couldn't be that… Wait! Oh, godforsaken sons of-

"Jennifer-san!" he said. "What was the tea?!"

She was almost as pale as her son was. "I don't quite remember… ah, comfrey, maybe?"

"Shit," he growled, turning back to the lethargic boy, who was rapidly losing consciousness. "Somebody call 110, _now_. Yuuri's been poisoned."

* * *

(A/N): Cliffie…. you know you totally hate me for it. I'm a bitch that way.

Forgive me if 110 is NOT the Japanese version of 911. I really think it is, but I'm not 100 percent sure. I still think I'm right, though.

I actually researched the poison's effects (research now meaning wikipedia) and I am proud to say that I might actually have it right. Anyone who can guess which poison it is gets… I dunno, something amazingly awesome of their choice. Art! Sure, I can do art. At least, I don't suck. Plus, Yuuri and Conrad are easy as crap to draw.

Review fast or die slow, my loves.


	6. Chapter 5: Nachrichten des Verrats

DEAD FROM FINALS.

REWROTE THIS CHAPTER TWICE.

DON'T LIKE IT, _TOUGH._

* * *

The hospital was quite possibly the most stressful place to be on Earth. People are conditioned to be afraid of the strong scent of antibacterial spray, caused by obsessive cleaning in the name of restricting disease. When everything is pure white, air-conditioned within an inch of its life, and filled with people going about very serious life-or-death business, the common man feels insignificant, out-of-place, and completely ignored. Whatever is happening to a loved one will happen whether they protest it or not, they think. No matter how unfair the situation is, God won't care. If it happens within in the walls of a hospital, then there was nothing else that could be done and you were a useless lump of garbage that probably managed to trip up the people that did the _real_ work. Hospitals… are not the most fun of places to be, even if you know in your mind that these people can probably help. Knowing something in your mind and knowing it in your heart are two distinctly different things.

Conrad's head swirled with all of these things as he sat in the ICU waiting room, one leg bouncing restlessly. He was hunched over on the little metal bench, fingers intertwined and placed over his mouth to hide any shaking. He knew he probably looked like a nervous wreck, but at least his grief was nothing compared to poor Jennifer, or Miko, or whatever she had taken to calling herself recently. She was buried in her husband's arms, crying hysterically. Shoma, to his credit, rocked her slowly, trying to calm his wife's sobs and small screams. He also looked somewhat worse for the wear, although it was obvious that he wasn't going to believe anything anyone said until the doctors actually marched up to him and told him the situation as it was. Shori was sitting in much the same fashion as Conrad, although his hands bounced irritably in his lap. His mouth kept twitching and moving around, a clear sign that he was uncomfortable. Yozak and Murata stood. Murata's eyes were fixed on tiles, and occasionally on doctors as they came near, hoping that one of them would be the one to tell them exactly what had happened to his best friend and what could be done to fix the problem. Yozak was a hard one to place. He looked nervous, but also vaguely guarded, as if there was something he didn't want anyone else to find out. He'd also put eyes on Conrad more times than the latter would like to think about. He really, _really_ hoped that Yozak hadn't thought that _Conrad_ had… Oh, God, it wasn't even a theory worth thinking about.

Finally, a woman in the typical white jacket of a doctor walked up to the silent congregation. "Are the parents of Shibuya Yuuri among you?" she asked.

"Yes, yes!" Miko cried, pushing herself away from her husband's chest. "I'm his mother! Please, tell us what's happening!"

"Calm down, ma'am," the doctor said kindly. "Your son is in stable condition. He'll be fine. It was a near thing, especially since your son's so athletic. I'm Dr. Youman, by the way."

Miko breathed an overjoyed sigh of relief, hugging her husband and then her son, half laughing. Conrad even allowed himself a wide smile. Murata was smiling, too, pulling Yozak's arm closer.

Shori's relief was clear, but he was also curious. "What do you mean? What does athleticism have to do with it? And why would that make it worse?"

"Healthier people have slower resting heart rates," she explained. "The danger of digitalis is in how it affects the heart rate. We wouldn't have been able to give him the medication for the tachycardia had his heart rate been any lower."

"But he's going to be fine?" Miko asked.

"Yes. We'd like to keep him here overnight, just to make sure the poison gets properly flushed out of his system before we send him out, but he should be alright. He's already recovering well, although he hasn't regained consciousness yet."

"Thank you, doctor. Do you know if we can go see him yet?" Shoma said.

She checked a pocketwatch, of all things. "Not quite yet. Give it a half hour, and by then, they should let you in. Remember, visiting hours end at 6. I'm glad your son is doing better." She smiled warmly and walked away.

Yuuri's parents nodded, still giddy and weak with relief.

"Well," said Yozak. "If we've got half an hour before anything interesting happens, Conrad, my man, could I talk to you alone for a while?"

Conrad cocked an eyebrow. "Sure, I guess."

Yozak led the way, twisting around hallways until he found a small area suitably far away from hubbub or activity of any sort. He turned around abruptly, shoving Conrad into a stone wall with a sickening crack.

"What. The fuck. Was that?" he asked venomously.

"Digitalis," Conrad gasped from around what might be a broken scapula.

"_No_, you fucking-! Why the fuck did you know right off the bat that he'd been poisoned?! Most people fucking _wait_ until sickness is ruled out, _then_ they move on to poison! What the fuck prompted the switch-up?"

"Please, let me down," Conrad whispered. Dear God, his shoulder blade hurt.

Yozak did, but not before shoving him roughly into the wall one more time for effect. Conrad saw stars.

"So?"

"…There's a contract out on Yuuri. Don't ask me why; the cover story the guy gives is bullshit."

Yozak's eyes widened. They stayed that way for a few seconds, shock giving way to dead silence.

"You," he whispered. "I hadn't thought it possible of you…"

"I didn't!" Conrad cried. "I'd _never_! Fuck it, man! You really think I'd-? No, never! Oh, God…" He sunk to the floor, ashen.

"Don't get cute with me, dipshit," Yozak said. His voice actually physically _hurt_. His eyes were something straight from hell. "You and I both know how this works. You get the story first, and THEN the picture and name, if you even get THAT much. Not the other way around. The only way you could know that there's a contract out on Yuuri specifically would be if _you took the job_," he hissed.

Conrad had started crying quietly, although he couldn't for the life of him pinpoint when it had begun.

"That's… true; I did. Until I _met_ the kid. I wasn't going to do it. Even if I'd tried to, I don't think I'd be _able_ to do it. You know me, Yozak. I'm still human. I've got a fucking heart."

"Why didn't you just ditch the contract?" Yozak asked, still suspicious.

"Think!" Conrad half-yelled. "If I'd dropped the contract, it'd be out on the market again in no time! Someone twice the asshole I am could've come along and-!" He put a palm over his face, breathing heavily. His shoulder still hurt horribly.

"So what was this nonsense, then?"

"I think… I think the employer figured out somehow that I have no intention of doing what I've been hired to do. I think Yuuri's been double-booked."

Yozak sucked in a breath. "Then… since you ditched on the deal, they're going to know that you know there's something off about the whole steaming pile of shit they're selling as the motive. Which is, by the way?"

"They listed him as a drug dealer. Dealing to kids."

"Oh, now that is bull."

"Exactly. You know that, I know that, they know that."

"And since you have a way to track down the employer who wants a kid dead for apparently no reason…"

"Bingo," Conrad said quietly. "I'm a liability. There's probably a contract out on me now, too. Actually, I'd be surprised if there weren't."

Yozak sat down by his friend, leaning into the wall. "…I'm sorry, man. I just – I guess I was looking for somebody to blame. I didn't ask you properly first."

"No," Conrad shook his head. "It's okay. It's natural to be suspicious of the assassin, no matter what." He chuckled slightly, although promptly stopped when his shoulder gave him shit again.

"What?" Yozak asked.

"Yuuri," he explained, "was going to be that very last hit I told you about. Seems like that's going to be true one way or another, huh?"

"Don't get so melodramatic, Connie."

"Connie's a girl name."

"Yep. So long as you're acting like a little bitch, I'll call you Connie."

Conrad laughed and shook his head, suddenly breathed in suddenly.

"Shit! Man, what happened?"

"You threw me into a stone-goddamn-_wall_. What do you _think_ happened?"

"Oh. Sorry."

"No you're not."

"A little, then."

"I think I need a doctor. I think you broke something."

Yozak grimaced. "I'm sorry, seriously. I'll go get you someone."

"Thanks."

Conrad didn't want to admit it, but talking to Yozak had been good for him (aside from the possibly broken scapula). It had straightened out a lot of things that had been swirling around his mind. Yozak had an innate ability to ask the perfect questions in order to get people to sort things out in their own heads. However, there were still two more imperative questions to work out.

Who was the new assassin and what was he going to do once he found out that Yuuri was still alive and well?

In Conrad's musings, he completely missed the soft, almost inaudible _click_ of a recording device being turned off.

* * *

"Oh, my little baby!" Miko said, flying into her son's room. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him shamelessly. "I'm so sorry! It was all my fault – it got put into the tea, and then – oh, you poor thing! It's all Mama's fault…"

"Mom! Mom, it's okay; you didn't do anything wrong," Yuuri said, blushing. "I call it bad luck is all."

Everyone was grateful to see Yuuri looking so well. Sure, he was still a little pale, and he was hooked up to a heart monitor and IV drip, but going by looks alone, he was doing pretty well.

Yuuri's eyes scanned the crowd. His mother, his father, Shori, Murata, and even Yozak were all there. But no Conrad. His face fell slightly. Maybe… maybe Conrad had gone home? Maybe he'd gotten tired of waiting around for a sickly teenager to recover?

Yozak read Yuuri's face easily with a wide grin. "Conrad's had a nasty run-in with a floor a few halls down, kid. He's getting a doctor to look at him now, otherwise you know he'd totally be in here."

"Goodness gracious!" Miko said. "A run-in with the floor? How on earth did that happen?"

"Oh, you know," Yozak said, shrugging, "some folk don't feel the need to put up wet floor signs, so the poor naïve folk traversing the halls slip and _wham_! – broken scapula."

"He _broke_ something?" Yuuri asked.

"No need to look so worried. I don't think he really broke something. He's just a big baby."

Yuuri didn't look convinced.

"Yuuri, do you know who might want to kill you?" Shori asked.

Dead silence reigned. Yozak paled two shades, but not nearly as much as Yuuri did.

"What… what on earth are you talking about, Shori?"

Shori adjusted his glasses. "Simple. There's no way that the people who make the tea would have gotten a potent poison mixed up with a seasoning for tea. It must've been snuck in there. I think someone's trying to kill you, Yuuri. You're the only one who likes that particular kind of tea. No one else can stand it – we have our own tea, which has already been tested and come up negative for any traces of toxins. You were clearly the target of this disgusting act, and I'd like to know why."

Yuuri swallowed. "I… I'd like to know, too. I have no idea why anyone would want to hurt me. I haven't done anything. Or, at least, I don't think I have."

Shori nodded. The worried looks on everyone's faces clearly spoke of their wish that Shori hadn't said anything at all. If he was right, then this wouldn't be the last attempt.

This would happen again, and modern medicine might not be there in time.

* * *

A nurse had ushered everyone out come six o'clock, and now Yuuri's room felt desolate and lonely. The heart monitor wasn't very good company, to say the least. Well, maybe it wasn't desolate so much as boring as sin.

Why wasn't there anything _interesting_ to do in a hospital unless you were dying? They could at least toss him a coloring book or something. Nick a board game from the children's center. Hell, get together all the senior citizens in one room and play Canasta or Bingo, and Yuuri would be in on that in half a minute. He wasn't very good at Canasta, and maybe his luck with Bingo (or anything, really) wasn't as good as it could've been, but hey, if it would lighten the boredom, _anything_ was welcome.

The door creaked quietly, but with the dead air of the room, it sounded like a gunshot. Yuuri's head shot up, hoping that someone more interesting than a nurse would come through the door.

A boy about Yuuri's own age – perhaps a little younger, now that he was looking closely – peeked in from around the door.

"Hey!" Yuuri said. "Are you looking for someone?"

The boy nodded, entering. "I was looking for a Shibuya Yuuri. That's you, isn't it?"

"Oh! Um, yeah," he said. In the slightly better light, the boy was absolutely stunning. He had long blonde hair that came down to his hips at a very feminine length. He wore mostly white with gold-colored trimmings, which made him look all the more the part of an angel. He had a childish, heart-shaped face and perfect skin that had tints of a tan from being in the sun. The singular feature that ruined the almost-ethereal boy was the lavender spectacles he wore, obscuring his wide eyes.

"Awesome! I was a bit afraid I'd gotten lost. I've been in two rooms already, and neither one of them was the right one." Good lord, even his voice was perfect, sweet and smooth, but with a hint of inner wickedness that made him interesting.

"Well," Yuuri said. "Look no further."

The boy smiled. "I'm Sara – and don't ask about the name; I know it's girly as hell."

"Trust me, if there's anyone who understands problems with names, it's me," said Shibuya Yuuri Harajuku Fuuri.

Sara smiled. "Nice. Actually, um, I needed to give you something. A gentleman told me that you needed to hear this no matter what. I haven't listened to it, but since he said that, I'm going to assume it was rather important." He noticed a cassette tape in the boy's hand.

"Gentleman?" Yuuri wondered if maybe the man had been Conrad. "Could you describe him?"

"Yeah. Um… he was ridiculously tall, for one thing. Long hair pulled back in a ponytail. Looked really severe. I just couldn't bring myself to argue with somebody that scary, see? So when he asked me to do this…"

"Ah. I get it."

"Yeah. So, do you know him?"

Yuuri shook his head. "Doesn't sound like anyone I know. But I'll listen to the tape. Can I have it?"

"Yeah; sure." Sara handed it over. "So what happened to you? You look fine."

"Poisoned."

"Shit! Sucks to be you."

"No lie," Yuuri sighed.

"Well, I hope you feel better soon."

"I do, too. Thanks. And thanks for lying when you said I looked fine."

Sara laughed, waving and smiling as he left the room. Yuuri felt the loneliness even more keenly now. The blonde boy had been fun to be around, even if he'd only known him for all of a minute. He had a lively, exuberant air around that made you want to be in his company for the rest of time. Yuuri wondered if he'd ever meet the angelic boy again, or if it was just a one-time thing. He sincerely hoped it would be the former. The only friends he had were insane like Murata and Yozak, or just too perfect to be entirely approachable, like Conrad.

He was still worried about Conrad's shoulder. He'd come in long enough to say that it was just severely bruised before the nurses had dragged him back to his own room to be treated. Leave it to Conrad to decide that aggravating a wound was better than letting someone worry that it was worse than it actually was. He shook his head, smiling. Honestly, that man had the cutest faults ever, if they could really be called faults at all.

His Mom had had the foresight to pack him a bag of stuff meant to amuse, which he now rummaged through. Most of it had been kind of useless, such as the Sudoku book with no pencils or even pens, or in this case, the cassette player with no cassettes. Well, now he had something to listen to, and apparently it was important.

The sound filtered through the headphones, fuzzy and indiscernible at first. But then, it cleared up, and Yuuri desperately, desperately wished it hadn't.

_"What. The fuck. Was that?"_

_"Digitalis."_

_"No, you fucking-! Why the fuck did you know right off the bat that he'd been poisoned?! Most people fucking wait until sickness is ruled out, then they move on to poison! What the fuck prompted the switch-up?"_

_"Please, let me down." _

_"So?"_

_"…There's a contract out on Yuuri. Don't ask me why; the cover story the guy gives is bullshit."_

_"You. I hadn't thought it possible of you…"_

_"I didn't! I'd never! Fuck it, man! You really think I'd-? No, never! Oh, God…" _

_"Don't get cute with me, dipshit. You and I both know how this works. You get the story first, and THEN the picture and name, if you even get THAT much. Not the other way around. The only way you could know that there's a contract out on Yuuri specifically would be if you took the job."_

_"That's… true; I did."_

Yuuri yanked the headphones from his ears, shaking. No… how could…? It wasn't possible. Conrad… Conrad had tried to kill him?

It couldn't be.

It couldn't.

Right?

* * *

(A/N): I'm so serious. This chapter kicked my ass to the curb. I hated it so much. I doubt the next one is going to go very smoothly, either.

But yeah. NO ONE guessed what the poison was. Sad day.

We got snow! Like, 4-8 inches of it! It was amazing, but my shoulders are in massive amounts of pain from shoveling snow away from our sidewalk, since people can technically sue our family if they walk on our sidewalk in snow and slip. Eeurgh. Ow… Good news is, Sara isn't a total asshole in this. He's actually going to be kind of cool, if I can work him back in somehow.

Review fast or die slow, darlin's. You're the only reason I'm still writing this.


	7. Chapter 6: Eine Verschwendung von Zeit

Yes, I know it's been forever. Good news is, I'm back! Thank God I remember what the plot was supposed to be. Well, vague hints of it. I can make up some bullshit to fill in the blank places in my memory like nobody's business; you know I can. And I'm officially done with high school and in college! WHOOOOOOO~! I'll have a shit-ton of free time over the summer, so I'll spend a good portion of it finishing this thing for the wonderful people who have waited SO. FREAKING. LONG. God bless you and I'm sorry again for the wait.

Disclaimer: EXPELLIARMUS. With that, you no longer have a way to magically make me the owner of Kyou Kara Maoh. Shazzam.

* * *

"You ready to head on home?" Shoma asked, eyeing his son.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Because you still look kind of pale-"

"Seriously, Dad, it's fine. I'll get more rest at home than I will here, anyway," Yuuri said. His voice sounded hollow even to him. "Can we just go?"

"Did you want to pop in on Conrad before we-"

"N-no, it's all right."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"But you-"

"I'll call him later!" Yuuri lied. "I just want to get out of here right now."

"Okay," Shoma muttered, exchanging glances with his equally worried wife. "I'll call your brother to tell him we're on our way, I suppose."

"...Thank you."

Yuuri led the trek out of the hospital, determinedly avoiding eye contact with anyone at all. He didn't want to have to think about anything, especially not anything to do with Conrad or with the poisoning, and _definitely_ not anything relating the two. His whole body felt cold and dead, more so than it had when he had actually been on the edge of death. Everything felt stiff, but that might have been from his lengthy stay in a less-than-comfortable hospital bed. He kept flinging his thoughts out to strange tangents to avoid dwelling on the issue at hand, but always found himself right back where he started, only twice as miserable.

He'd really liked Conrad. He'd been perfect. Too perfect. He really should have known that there would be a catch somewhere along the line. No-one that perfect existed in real life, not unless they were scripted, and it was looking more and more like Conrad was exactly that. Was Conrad even his real name? What if absolutely everything had been a lie? What if he only asked Yuuri out that first time because of the hit? A voice in the back of his head asked why a date was necessary to poison someone several days later when they hadn't gone anywhere near his house, but the pain the rest of him was feeling swamped it into silence. Yuuri's body mechanically yanked open the car door (perhaps with a bit more force than was necessary) and slid in, staring blankly at the back of the leather seat in front of him, examining the nicks and marks made over the years. His parents both gave him worried looks that he completely missed, but didn't say anything. For that at least, he was grateful. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk to anyone just yet. When he had his own head straight, he might be able to talk about it, but until then, he wasn't certain he wouldn't break down completely.

* * *

Murata had been staring down his cell phone for the last five minutes, and had been stealing glances every 30 seconds for a half-hour before _that_. Yozak was reasonably irritated.

"I thought we were supposed to be spending quality time together," he griped.

Murata's eyes flicked up. "Honestly, love, I meant to, but I'm worried about Shibuya. His brother is supposed to text me when he gets home so I can call him and weasel an answer out of him as to what's got him so messed up."

Yozak felt his insides squirm uncomfortably for a reason he wasn't sure he wanted to name. "Well, I mean, poor kid just got poisoned – on purpose, no less... Don't people usually have the right to be a little shaken when somebody tries to do them in?"

"Yeah... but this is something else. Normal people are scared when people try to kill them."

"He's not scared?"

"Oh, I think he is a little," Murata smiled ruefully, "but not as much as I think he should be. If I'm not wrong, he's acting more miserable than scared."

The uncomfortable feeling in Yozak's gut multiplied. "Why would that be?"

"That would be why I'm waiting to call hi-" And, as though cued, his cell phone nearly vibrated itself off his bedside table. He dived down for it, opening the text message instantly. "Excellent. He's home. I'm going to give him a minute or two to get comfortable or something before I interrogate him, though."

"You don't think Shouri waited until after Yuuri went to his room to text you?"

"Good point; screw waiting." And with that, he speed-dialed his friend's cell number.

"Yuuri," the tinny voice finally answered after the fourth ring. "Murata, I know it's you, so please get on to explaining why the fuck you're calling me near midnight when we both should be getting some sleep."

"For one thing," Murata said, "this is more important than sleep. For another, it's a form of torture to deprive someone of sleep, and I figure this way, you'll tell me what I want to know faster."

"Just talking with you at all is a form of torture, no matter what time of day it is."

"You're an ass. But that's beside the point."

"Then please make this elusive point of yours and let me hang up."

Murata's face turned serious, and Yozak edged closer to better hear Yuuri's half of the conversation. "Something was really wrong with you today and I'd like to know what's eating at you."

"Aside from the assassination attempt? Nothing at all..." Yuuri gave an insincere laugh.

"This is serious," Murata growled. "Stop trying to deflect my questions and give me a straight answer."

Yuuri waited a while before speaking. "I wish I knew what the hell was going on, Murata. Honest to God, I do. You see, I wasn't even that fussed about some nameless dick poisoning my tea, but... I mean, what if is wasn't some nameless dick? What if it was... someone I knew? Or someone I _thought_ I knew, at least."

"What are you trying to say?" Murata asked, hitting the speakerphone button for Yozak's benefit, motioning for the man to remain silent.

"I... Okay, so I got a-a recording, I guess... of Yozak and Conrad talking. I don't know when the hell this was, but it must've been recent. Let's just say... it sounds really bad. _Really_ bad." Yozak had gone white, eyes wide, as he turned to face Murata, shaking his head slowly in horror. He did his best to mouth, 'No, Conrad didn't do it,' but he wasn't sure how clear it was. It must have been clear enough, because Murata was giving him a look that clearly asked, 'Well then who did?', accompanied by a wandering accusatory finger.

"So you think... you think Conrad tried to... to what, kill you?"

"I don't know what to think, Murata! That's the point!" He could clearly hear Yuuri's frustration. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but there's no way that tape was faked. You can't just tell me the guy's innocent of everything after that!"

"Well, what was said that implicates him on the tape?"

"Well, for one thing, he says there's a contract out on my head and he's the one who took the job," Yuuri said brusquely in a way that was clearly meant to sound uncaring, but failed spectacularly.

"Holy shit," Murata breathed, looking again at Yozak, who looped a finger to indicate going further. "What else?"

"What else? What else could there be worse than that? Sounds pretty damn convincing to me!"

"So there's nothing else?"

"Like what?"

"Fuck, I don't know, Shibuya! Like, did he say he was the one who poisoned you?"

Yuuri paused. "Well, no... not those exact words."

"Then how do you know-"

"That's what I've said about three times now. _I don't_."

There was a long break of silence. "Deep down, do you really think he did it? Do you really think he's the sort of person who would do that to you? I mean, what the hell kind of assassin gets to know a guy and takes him out on a date before killing him? Why not do it remotely and avoid any and all suspicion? You've seen the same movies I have – hell, I'm the one who forced you to watch them!"

"I-I don't know. Movies are probably all full of shit, anyway. And it's not like it might even matter; I'll figure out the truth soon enough anyway, whether I believe 'deep down' that he did it or not.'

"What do you mean?" Murata asked, alarmed.

Yuuri didn't speak again for a few seconds and both Murata and Yozak got the impression that he hadn't meant to let that slip. "Well... I wasn't really paying all that much attention in the car ride home, but Mom and Dad were talking about sending me to a safe-house out in... well, I'm not supposed to tell anyone, you know? Not very safe if I go blabbing where it is. Apparently, the cops took one look at the case and sent it up to higher authorities, who back-traced the ISP of the guy who posted the hit, and he's foreign, so Interpol's in on this and there's just too damn much going on right now. They're getting me out of the way until they find not only the guy who posted the hit but the guy who actively tried to kill me, too. I guess they don't do anything halfway."

"Shibuya, I am so sorry. Not to make light of your situation, but you are just _mired_ in shit right now."

"You say that like it's a revelation," he snorted. "I'd always had a sneaking suspicion that life was trying to bone me hard, but now it's like it's actively picketing my continued existence."

"Just put your paws up," Murata said encouragingly. "'Cause you were-"

"Don't say it. Honest, Murata, you aren't Lady Gaga. You haven't got the nose for it. Or the fashion sense." Yuuri's voice sounded a little less burdened now that he had unloaded. "Although I have no trouble believing that you were 'born this way'."

"Hey, Shibuya, before you hang up..."

"Yeah?"

"I don't think Conrad had anything to do with it. Keep your hope up. I'm expecting you back home damn soon, and don't go roaming about doing stupid shit that might get you killed before then."

"I'll do my best. Thanks, man." Murata could hear the smile in his voice.

* * *

Saralegui was fiddling with the hinge on the left side of his lavender "pimp specs", as he privately called them. It had been giving him trouble for the last week or so, becoming increasingly loose until the frames were slightly lopsided on his face. He pulled out a very small pair of pliers to hopefully push the pins back into their rightful places, knowing fully that it wasn't going to work and that he'd eventually have to resort to super glue, but having too much pride to give up so easily.

"Hey, Uncle?" he called into the next room. A quiet murmur of acknowledgement sounded. "Should we just drop the hit and head home? I mean, Interpol's in on it, though they haven't started moving yet. The ruddy idiot who put the hit out is going to get back-traced in two seconds and I don't much fancy what might happen when he starts raving about double-booking and blah blah blah else. And what happened to that other guy who took the hit? Conrad, was it? Something. I _definitely_ don't want to get on his bad side unless we absolutely have to. At least Interpol is only of a mind to throw people in prison. Assassins aren't people you generally want to have pissed at you, especially when you're probably not even going to get paid for your work because you're employer's locked up."

"That's odd for you to say, Saralegui," the other man commented, stepping into the room, securing his very long, dark hair in its customary bindings. "You've never backed out of a job before. And besides, didn't you say you wanted to rid the world of a drug dealer?"

Saralegui gave his guardian an incredulous look. "I know Interpol is daft at times, but do you really think they'll miss that? After the digitalis, they're probably going to turn his whole house upside down. If there's even the slightest trace of drugs anywhere on his belongings, he's going to be in a world of shite once they make sure his life isn't in legitimate danger anymore."

"And you think they will find all that, but still not find us in the process?"

Saralegui gave a tiny smile. "I suppose you're right. But it's not like you weren't careful, correct? Theoretically, they should have nothing that can be traced back to us, yes?"

The man looked thoughtful a moment. "My first inclination is to say that I was very careful and that I left no evidence, but I'd still rather not tempt fate, if possible."

"Sensible," Sara laughed. "I find myself wishing we'd go out and do something insensible – something spontaneous and stupid once in a while. Let's go throw eggs at a politician; it doesn't matter which one, they're probably all thieves and skanks, anyway."

"Why eggs?"

"The yolk is harder to get out of hair than water might be, although water balloons absolutely crossed my mind initially," he said, finger-combing his own absurdly long tresses. "This being said, let's pick a politician who isn't bald."

"Regardless, Saralegui. Do you really mean to back out of an obligation simply because you fear incarceration? It seems not to have stopped you before. After all, the very nature of what we do encompasses more than enough risks for several consecutive life terms in various world-wide prisons."

Sara gave up on the hinge on his glasses, reaching for the super glue bottle conveniently placed on the desk. "You're right. I think it's a bloody waste of time and effort, though, and I'm simply notifying you that I will be complaining for the entirety of this job and perhaps a bit beyond that. Indeed, I may bring it up in arguments whenever I feel I've been ousted or done a disservice. See if anyone ever questions _my_ dedication again! Are you interested in food, or am I to fend for myself in that monstrosity this hotel calls a kitchenette?"

* * *

(A/N:) *collapse* I just wrote all this in one sitting. I don't give a shit that it's a bit shorter than normal. Somebody applaud me, because I think I deserve it. Or hit me upside the head because I didn't do it sooner, as I also deserve _that_. Well, I doubt I would have been able to write a word if I hadn't had the proper inspiration. And I rather like writing Saralegui. I think of his speech as the dry sort of humour I normally employ in my essays for English. You'd be surprised what sort of jokes I write in there for my teachers. I figure they get bored reading the same old crap over and over and need a little laugh, if they're careful readers.

Remember, if you catch any grammar or spelling errors (or gaping plot holes) I may have missed in editing, TELL ME. I will fix them as soon as I am cognizant enough to do so. And with this, adieu. I plan on having more to post as soon as I can get it all down on paper. Or a Word document. Whichever comes first.

Review fast or die slow, my loves! Oh, how I have missed you.


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